He began pacing in complex patterns.
“Right, okay. Other mistakes? Plenty. Your first command, the light cruiser. Didn’t go exactly as planned, but, hey — nobody’s perfect. Okay, so you scored a direct hit on a friendly flagship in the war games! It was a great shot! If it had been an enemy flagship—”
He fell silent but continued to make trails across the deep-pile carpeting.
Presently he resumed lecturing himself: “Okay, forget all that. You’re an officer in the United Systems Space Forces! You have a tradition to live up to and goddamn that comm panel.”
Savagely he yanked a switch on the desk. “What the hell is it?”
“Captain?”
“Yes, yes, what do you want?”
“It’s Darvona, sir. Am I… am I disturbing you?”
“No! Uh, no. Sorry. What is it, Ms. Roundheels?”
“All the other captains called me Darvona.”
“Oh, all right. What is it, Darvona?”
“Captain Chang left a recording for you.”
“Chang? Who the hell is he?”
“It’s a woman, sir. She was the last captain of the Repulse. Remember?”
“Oh. And you say she left a recording for me?”
“For the next captain.”
“I see. Well, play the message.”
“It’s confidential, sir. You have to authorize playback with your orders.”
“Very well.” Wanker fetched his microdisk. “Okay, it’s in the slot.”
“It’ll be up in a second, sir.”
Wanker sat at the desk. “I have to get control of myself,” he muttered. “Think of it as a challenge. A challenge. That’s the ticket.”
“This is the former captain of the Repulse speaking,” said a voice from the screen.
Wanker raised his eyes and saw the face of an attractive Asian woman.
“My name is Naomi Chang, and I have a message for the next captain of this fine military vessel.”
Wanker waited, intrigued and puzzled.
The woman’s face contorted into a tortured mask. “GET OUT! GET OUT! HIDE! WHATEVER YOU DO, DONT TRY TO COMMAND THIS SHIP! IT’S A JINX, A TRAP! IT’LL KILL YOU! THEY’LL DRIVE YOU CRAZY, THEY’RE ALL INSANE! EVERY ONE OF THEM, LUNATICS! IT’S A SHIP FROM HELL! AIEEEEEEEEEEEEE—!”
Wanker lunged for the cut-off switch.
The screen went dark.
“Oh, my God,” David Wanker said in a small voice, his freckled face ashen.
CHAPTER 6
Over the next few days, none of the skeleton crew so much as glimpsed the new captain, who spent the time sequestered away, taking his meals alone and admitting no one to his sanctum.
Scuttlebutt didn’t know what to make of it. Meanwhile, on the planet below, the rest of the crew — mostly enlisted personnel with a few warrant officers — were getting restless. The base’s laundry was overwhelmed, jammed with piles of mud-encrusted uniforms.
Captain Wanker called no executive meetings. He did request numerous computer files: ship’s logs, data bases, procedural flowcharts and such. He also tapped the ship’s computer for a flood of other data. This behavior was unremarkable in itself, but coupled with his becoming a virtual recluse, it caused some speculation.
“It’s our next assignment,’’ Darvona surmised. “He’s already been briefed by Operations. It’s something big, I’ll bet.”
“Fat chance,” Sven said dourly as he looked at some instruments close to Darvona’s console.
Darvona gave him a haughty look. “Well, how do you know it isn’t?”
Sven shrugged. “Dream on. Before you do, though, why don’t you find out who’s sending out that distress call?”
“Huh? What distress call?”
“The one registering on your console.” Sven reached and flipped a switch. A loud beeping sounded. “You had the scanning alert off.”
“Oh, that distress call.” Darvona squinted at the display. “It’s only a third-class call. Nothing really to worry about.”
“What ship is it?”
“It’s a cruiser, the Anson MacDonald. Must be having minor mechanical failure. It’s requesting a berth at the graving dock.”
“Either that or it’s coming to take us away on a mystery tour.”
Darvona’s pretty blue eyes went wide. “No kidding, do you think…?” She thought about it. “Nahhh. Sven, you’re so silly.”
Sven’s eyes rolled as he continued to take readings.
“Hey, here’s another call,” Darvona said. “From Command Central, scrambled. For the captain.”
David Wanker sat at his work console, exhausted and still stumped after days of research. He had been doing detective work, trying to get to the bottom of the Repulse’s jinx, to find out why this ship had so many black marks against it.
It didn’t figure. There was nothing mechanically wrong with the ship, at least not fundamentally wrong. Yes, Sadowski was a terrible engineer, but that didn’t explain everything. Yes, most of the crew were inveterate screw-ups, but that didn’t sufficiently explain the mystery either. The ship’s operational procedures were standard — hell, they came out of manuals. Chain of command was standard … What, then, was the problem?
A beep from the comm panel interrupted his thoughts.
“What?” he growled.
“Oo, Captain, you scared me. What’s the matter?”
“Huh? Oh. Sorry, Ms. Roundheels. Look, if it’s another message, I’m not in.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“It’s another message, and you’re not in.”
“Right. Wait a minute. Who is it?”
“Who’s what?”
Wanker slapped his forehead. “Who’s calling, for Pete’s sake?”
“Oh. Uh.. it’s Rear Admiral Dickover.”
Wanker sat up. “Holy crap. Lyman Dickover?”
“I’ll tell him you’re not in.”
“No, wait! I’ll take the call.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Do you think I’m going to stiff an admiral?”
“I would,” Darvona said peevishly. “Enough of them have stiffed me.”
“Never mind. Put the admiral through.”
David Wanker cringed inwardly as he sat and waited. Admiral Dickover was not exactly one of his favorite people, and he was certain the feeling was mutual. In fact, he had long suspected Dickover of gunning for him. Throughout Wanker’s career, Dickover had remained just above in rank, hovering like a hawk. And every time Wanker goofed, Dickover swooped, going for the kill.
The blue-jawed face of Lyman Dickover appeared on the screen. He was a study in blue. His eyes had the deadly luster of gun steel, his Earth-sky-colored uniform and the blue-gray stubble on his shaved bulletlike head complementing the color scheme.
“Good day, Admiral Dickover,” Wanker said. “What can I do for you?”
The admiral growled, “You can complete your new assignment without screwing up.”
“I intend to run a taut ship, sir.”
Dickover grunted. “We’ll see. By the way, we’ve finally located the last ship you ran tautly. Found it in a scrap yard in the Orion Nebula, its serial numbers filed off and stripped of just about everything, including the main reactor.”
Wanker shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m … I’m glad we got it back, sir.”
“Worth about a hundred credits as scrap metal,” Dickover snorted. “But of course the board of inquiry did clear you.”
“I was completely innocent of any negligence!”
“So they said. Well, let’s put the past behind us. New orders will be coming to you by messenger.”